Competition
by Kaketsu
Summary: Family love has stretched to the wilder side, and without warning Sasuke's blindsided by Itachi's affection and his own confusion. Please flame if you're homophobic, pls,


**I WARN J00.**

**I DIISCLAIM J00.**

**I WTFPWNED J00 AT HALO.**

**LIEK OWN'D.**

Oh, hell yeah, Sasuke's a virgin. That's what you get for killing Dei, emo.

Anyway. Here's a warning for you, and a disclaimer, as well.

I don't own Naruto. I don't own Sasuke, Itachi, Kisame, Deidara, Akatsuki, whoever, I just don't. And I definitely don't own Masashi Kishimoto. At Halo, maybe, but I don't own him otherwise.

Anyway, this is a semi-plotted man-love of mine, the result of brainstorming whilst doing my homework. It's some good stuff, yeah, but, uh, it's _man-love_. Man-love is man-love.

Don't read it if you don't like man-love.

Oh, yeah, and there's cussing. Yeah, yeah, whatever, cussing, no big deal, but without this wonderful cussing the intrawebs will hurt me badly.

--

_Competition_

Winter's freezing blades tore at the ashen film of skin that protected the boy's thick blood, liquid even in the hellish snow and still flowing even as it felt dead; a determined and silenced spirit driven to kill by motives almost unknown had quite easily harnessed the strength and beauty of this body, aged sixteen by now, and grown quite used to it. The boy had his dead seeds of origin planted in the same coldness, grown and uprooted by force. He had been forever growing towards a fleeing sun. And once he finally caught that sun his petals were seared by his failure, his failure to kill, and to hate—and for that he succeeded at hating himself.

Marching through the ice in a one-man funeral progression of a corpse whose name was unknown, he kept his head bowed low and his eyes shut tight. _I don't need to see,_ Sasuke then thought sullenly as he dragged his blade along in the snow and scored his path with a clean line running straight down the poorly-worn road. _I don't need to feel the cold._ The sharpness of the almost hail-snow was shredding his chest like hundreds of papercuts. He liked the feeling.

_I'm not a masochist,_ he explained to himself as the snow got still-deeper as the seconds stretched into minutes and he continued to grow weaker. _I'm not afraid of what I could be, either._ His digression amused him, almost made him happy, but he kept a straight face and stifled a laugh with much ease and, pausing to look up to the thickly drawn snow-clouds, sighed.

_I'm not what I wanted to be when I was younger, am I?_ He stopped walking and closed his eyes, taking in another breath, deeper, more satisfying—the back of his throat burned pleasantly. _I wanted to be a normal child. I wanted to have normal problems, if any. I wanted to accomplish a goal whose end was possible to reach. But instead I have an endless road stretched out before me…_

Sasuke's thoughts came to a standstill as the dry, delicate branches of the high-standing cedars, now bare from the winter's ongoing hunger, rustled and broke the calming, almost eerie silence—he felt the winter beating against his body more than ever…

There was a flash of red, and his knees buckled and he fell to the ground…then he saw the brilliant gray-brown of the trees fade into black…

_I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm stupid, I'm weak, I'm going to die…_

The boy's eyelids fluttered as he regained consciousness. It took him a few moments to take in his surroundings; a fire was dancing loudly against the wall nearest to him, in a crudely-built stone fireplace that seemed to have been living for the duration of his own life times four. The blinds of the high windows were drawn closed slightly, so only a few slivers of winter light could escape the narrow slits—the only way out of their cursed prison.

And just by the fire in the probably-old stone fireplace, with the slightly red light dancing against his dead-black hair, he sat up tall even as he lay with his back against the side of a large armchair and his long, slender legs laid out before him.

It took Sasuke several seconds to realize who this was, and when the name flashed across his memory he shook, reached out with his right hand as though to grab his brother, then screamed, "Itachi!"

Or, he tried, rather—all that came out of his mouth was a dry croak. Itachi looked up calmly, his expression still solemn and strong. "What?"

Sasuke cleared his throat, beating his chest with his free hand, and then said, rather loudly, "What do you mean, 'what?' I'm expecting something a little better from you." He lowered his voice. "You're my 'big brother,' after all."

"You said my name, I responded," his older brother replied, further irritating him. His expression changed to an almost nervous look. "It's not that hard to understand that."

"Are you going to kill me?"

"No. Why would you think that?"

Sasuke propped his head up on his arm, thinking. "Oh, I don't know why," he started, "probably not because you killed everyone else and left me out to chase you around for nearly a decade." Itachi's expression changed from its out-of-place nervousness to almost-amusement. Sasuke narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"You're acting like a child."

"Maybe I am," he said coolly. His dark, thoughtful eyes were just two smudges of almost-black on his face from behind his almost-closed eyelids. "Maybe. Just maybe, if I want to be. Or if you say so."

Itachi gnawed gently on his lower lip, lost in thought. He then smiled, and Sasuke flinched, half-expecting his brother to kill him. "Are you trying to get back at me?"

As Sasuke began to speak his voice grew dry. "No, I'm not," he said, "I'm not trying to get back at you for anything, I'm just stating a—"

A glass was pushed in front of him, its rim sitting just below his nose. "Shut up," Itachi said, "and drink. You don't sound too well."

_What the hell,_ he thought. _It's not like it's going to help you in any way._ His thoughts stopped, then he thought, _and I know I'm acting like a kid._ Sasuke shot his brother a death-glare, looked away, and sat up; it was then that he realized the red-spotted gauze that was wound tightly around his still-thin body.

"In fact," his brother continued, "you're not. The ice cut you up pretty badly. Plus—" he gestured towards Sasuke's side, "—I hit you too hard. Sorry."

Sasuke shrugged it off and drank. It was just water, and it froze his throat; he coughed. And all the way through he kept thinking the same thing, and it scrolled through his head over and over: _I'm going to kill him; I'm going to kill him. I'm going to like it._

"I love you."

Sasuke spit out his water in a half-vomit that caused him to drop the glass; shards flew in all directions. Itachi sneered. The younger brother pointed a finger straight at him, then said, "what the fuck was that for?! You could have hurt me, there!" Then, he digressed, "what the hell is 'I love you?!' Is this how you get your kicks? Telling your relatives that you love them?!"

"You think I came and found you to kill you, don't you?" Itachi smiled; Sasuke blinked, confused, then nodded. "And you think you can hate me any more than you could when you were twelve?" Sasuke grunted, and then nodded again.

Itachi waved his hand. "Stop, stop, give up, sorry, you can't."

"Why the hell not?"

The oldest brother, now twenty, but with a stunning and radiant beauty that could only derive from the wisdom of two hundred years, rose to his feet and took two long strides across the room, stopped, then dropped to his knees without a sound. "Because," he said matter-of-factly, "you can't win."

_It's like he's playing a game with me, like I'm a kid,_ Sasuke thought, cocking his head in reaction to "you can't win." Itachi's eyes were burning into the side of his head, waiting for eye contact to be made. Sasuke refused to turn his head; he was too confused, too afraid of what might happen.

"I can win…"

"Maybe." Itachi's hand was strong, and for just the forcing of his head to turn was like being bound in chains. All Sasuke could see was his brother's eyes, deep and strangely quiet, thoughtful as his and no less sad.

Then all Sasuke could feel were his brother's lips, soft and gentle, and all he could smell was the slight hint of a flower of sorts, subtle, yet powerful, like the wrath of monarchy. He trembled, he gasped, but he couldn't break free; his brother didn't have him bound, and posed no threat to him, but he couldn't move…he didn't _want_ to. It was like he was possessed, and at the same time in total control of himself. _What is this?_ His thoughts came and went like the wind. _Why? Who is he? He's not Itachi. He's just_ not_ Itachi._

No matter how many times he tried to believe this he couldn't come to accept it—there was something he liked about this side of Itachi, something that pleased him in a frightening way, and he couldn't figure out what it was…maybe it was his admiration of his brother's strength; maybe it was how he wished that he could dominate like he'd been doing it every day. He was sure that he felt that way. _Even if I'm envious, even if I hate him, there's always room for admiration…_

The sterile gauze, now less sanitary, now stained with his blood, was tight around his waste, a red belt below his bare chest that showed out more than the rest of his body. Itachi ran his fingers over the bandage, obviously lost in thought as he refused to end the beginning of what he seemed to have been keeping himself under control for over the years, then stopped, pulled his head back, looked directly at Sasuke, and mouthed the word "weak."

Then the younger of the two was upon him, tearing at his collar and wailing "no!" without a tear or a whine to accompany it. "There's no way! There's no way that I'll let you say that!"

_In a normal situation,_ he thought as he shook his older brother vigorously, who in turn refused to struggle, _I think I'd consider killing him. But…_ he stopped shaking him. _…no, I wouldn't. The outcome would be the same._

Then, laid on Itachi's chest, with his ear against his brother's breast, he sighed. Then, after calming down, he ran his head up the same tough, pale chest that he had always envied, and kissing the long, beautiful neck that he had always envied; it was his, now, all his, and he wasn't going to give it up. Not without a fight.

Itachi turned his head, closing his eyes, biting his lip, and saying, "then why don't you just shut up and win it for yourself?"

"Are you trying to turn me on?" Sasuke snarled. "Because it's going to get annoying if you keep going at it. Seriously, don't you have anything better to say?"

"What's the use in trying if you can do it yourself?" Before Itachi could raise either hand Sasuke pinned his arms. "Or, better yet, if you know that you've already accomplished that for yourself?"

"I don't find that important."

"You're obviously new to this." Itachi said. He seemed to be growing impatient.

"You obviously don't know when to shut up." Sasuke smiled through his frustration. _Yeah, I'm new to this,_ he thought nervously. _So help me out, I'm sure you're better than me._ He sighed. _Not surprised. You're better than me at everything else._

Before he could comprehend what had happened the boy was on his back, the pressure of his brother's body being applied to his bruised side. He didn't notice the pain. "What?" Itachi asked. "Surprised? Just keep your guard up, why don't you? Damn you. I'm trying to have fun for the first time in God knows how long, don't ruin it. Just loosen up; I'm not going to kill you."

Sasuke managed to relax enough to release the strain in his muscles. He sat with his eyes looking up at his successor, his brother, his keeper, with feelings of confusion and fear and happiness and nervousness all at the same time. It was almost overwhelming. And when he looked away and felt his brother's tongue run up and along his tired chest, cool against his skin, he shivered. "No," he whispered, "just, don't, I'm having second thoughts, just stop…really, Itachi, stop!"

But Itachi didn't stop. Instead he paused, blinked, and continued. Sasuke could feel the sash holding his own slacks around his waist loosen considerably—Itachi was really going to do this. He failed at attempting to scream; instead he moaned softly, the result of the only-slight pleasure that came from the gentle touch of tongue-on-skin…he felt like crying. His thoughts were confusing. _I want it, I don't, I want it, I don't, I'm spinning..._ then, finally, _I want it, I want it, I'm going to stop worrying…_

Itachi seemed to feel the sudden change in mood, as if Sasuke's thoughts were bleeding through the skin, and made a sound that was a cross between a cough and a laugh; Sasuke couldn't resist laughing quietly to himself, as well. Then he said, "fine, you win." He tilted his head, and then said, "again. You win, again."


End file.
